


Fire, Ready, Aim

by bluecurls



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Phil Coulson, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff, darcy works for SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 21:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10395972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecurls/pseuds/bluecurls
Summary: This ficlet is the result of a photo prompt showing a couple at a shooting range. If I knew how to link to AO3 (and I wasn't in a hurry and had time to look up instructions), I would. Go to my tumblr (bluecurls8) if you really want to see it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is the result of a photo prompt showing a couple at a shooting range. If I knew how to link to AO3 (and I wasn't in a hurry and had time to look up instructions), I would. Go to my tumblr (bluecurls8) if you really want to see it.

“Dismissed.”

Clint Barton watched as the line of SHIELD employees silently filed past him, each one setting their gun down on the table near the only way in and out of the shooting range.

“Thoughts?”

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, finally letting the frustration of the past hour show on his face. “Really wishing the robot that put me on medical rest would’ve finished the job.”

Phil Coulson’s not quite a sigh echoed in Clint’s comm. Given the way the archer behaved whenever he was on forced stand-down, Coulson hated it almost as much at Clint. This time, he decided to intervene before his office was filled with Avengers and agents alike complaining of Clint’s pranks or Clint’s whining or Clint’s attempts to sneak on to the quinjet during a call to assemble – Captain America’s disappointment in Coulson’s inability to keep Clint in check still hurt -- and added his name to the list of SHIELD training officers. The injuries he sustained made it impossible for him to use his bow for six to eight weeks – “Bullshit! Where’d the fuck you go to medical school?!” – but he could still shoot a gun.

“They’re a little green,” Coulson admitted.

Clint snorted. “Kermit the Frog is green.”

“Give them time, Agent Barton. Most of them will remain support staff; not field agents.”

Clint sighed. He spent almost four weeks in a Cambodian prison a few years back; heaven compared to the last month teaching Gun Safety 101 to a bunch of pencil pushers. “Can I go home now?” It was Tuesday, otherwise known as taco night at the Avengers mansion. He was going to wash his down with tequila, doctors and painkillers be damned.

“I have one more person heading your way.”

Clint groaned. This was a test. It had to be. Coulson was still pissed about the Armani tie lost in the Nerf Gun war of ’12. That was the only explanation. “I don’t do one-on-one.”

“Consider this a personal favor."

A distinctive click signaled the end of his feed. Clint pulled the comm from his ear and stuffed it in the back pocket of his black cargo pants as the door opened.

“Hello?”

Clint’s head snapped up. “Lewis?”

Darcy Lewis, Coulson’s girl Friday, grinned. “Hey, Hawkass.”

Clint folded his arms across his chest as she sauntered forward, having ditched her work clothes – usually a black pencil skirt and heels paired with a series of blouses every shade of the rainbow – for a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a loose-fitting sleeveless top the color of a ripe peach. She wore black Converse on her feet; no socks. “Coulson’s giving you a gun?”

“I know, right? He said a taser won’t do any good if I’m faced with more than one attacker. I told him Stark offered to do some upgrades and his eye did that twitching thing, you know?”

Clint nodded. He was quite familiar with Coulson’s only tell.

“So here I am.” She spread her arms wide. “Do with me what you will.”

He let that line go. Too easy. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

“I know a guy,” she said with a little smirk. “He taught me a few things.”

Clint shook his head. He’d known Darcy for years, first meeting her in New Mexico after Thor’s crash landing, but really getting to know her after she took up residence at the mansion with Jane Foster. She no longer worked for the petite astrophysicist, having accepted Coulson’s offer to work for SHIELD (and him) after learning the excessive NDAs she was forced to sign severely limited her employment options post-graduation. No one thought the political science graduate and super-agent pairing would last a month – the pool was still going but Clint already lost his $100 so he didn’t care – but they were a match made in some kind of alternate universe even Thor couldn’t explain. “Let’s get you set up then.”

Darcy grabbed one of the guns from the table, checking the safety before she joined Clint in the lane furthest from the door. She was quiet as he got her target ready, placing the gun on the low metal slab in front of her. When Clint stepped behind her, she loaded the gun, then put it back on the slab.

“Headphones,” Clint said, moving his from around his neck and over his ears. Darcy grabbed the pair hanging from a hook on the side of the wall and did the same. Clint moved behind her, close but not touching, and tapped her shoulder – the signal for her to start. He watched as she picked up the gun, adjusted her stance, flicked the safety off and took a deep breath.

She fired six shots. Each one hit the paper silhouette target – two in the head, one in the neck, and three in the chest. She engaged the safety, put the gun down and looked over her shoulder with a knowing smile. “How was that?”

Clint took off his headphones and gestured for her to do the same. He knew what she said – he was a lip reader – but he wanted to be sure she heard his reply. “Have I ever told you how hot you are?”

Her smile grew wider. “You might have mentioned it a time or two.”

Clint reached around her to push the button that activated the retrieval of her paper target. He pulled it off the clip and beamed. “I may need to hang this on my refrigerator.”

Darcy laughed. “Do that and people will talk.”

“Let ‘em.”

Darcy shook her head, still giggling. She thought he was joking. He didn’t blame her. When they fell into bed together six months before, casual was all he wanted. His job wasn’t meant for long-term relationships; one failed marriage taught him that. And Bobbi was an agent. If he couldn’t make it work with her, how the hell could he expect anything different with Darcy – a civilian almost 15 years his junior? So when she interrupted his rushed excuse to suggest they keep it simple – friends with benefits, no one needed to know – he readily agreed because not only was Darcy a looker and a wildcat in bed, she was sassy, snarky and had a brain that drove him crazy. In a good way. Most days.

Except the whole keep-it-simple plan wasn’t working for him anymore. His job may not be the best for long-term commitments, but the fact of the matter was he was a relationship kind of guy. He was sure SHIELD’s team of therapists were just dying to poke at his brain and come up with a list of reasons why that was. Broken home. Abusive father. Teenage runaway. He didn’t need their excuses. He only needed Darcy.

“I’m serious,” Clint said now.

Darcy stopped laughing. “Huh?”

He placed the target next to the gun and took Darcy’s hands in his. “Be mine,” he told her. “Really mine.”

Darcy’s blue eyes widened. “Like boyfriend-girlfriend?”

Clint winced at her choice of words. “I’m too old to be someone’s boyfriend, darlin’. But I am your man.”

Darcy tilted her head and studied him carefully. “Isn’t there a ‘no fraternization’ rule in the SHIELD handbook?”

Clint felt a stab panic at her words. Did he read the situation wrong? Was casual really all Darcy wanted? “Did you actually read the handbook?”

She shook her head.

“Then no, there’s no such rule.”

The look she gave him made it obvious she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t call him out on his bullshit. “OK.”

He needed more than that. “OK what?”

“OK I’ll be your girl. Or woman. Whatever you want to call it.”

He dropped her hands only so he could wrap his arms around her and pull her close. “Really?”

She linked her arms around his neck. “I think those painkillers must be messing with you, birdbrain. For someone who’s supposed to see everything, you somehow missed that fact that I’m crazy about you. Have been for months.”

Clint pressed his forehead to hers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he whispered against her lips. “‘Cause I zoomed past crazy a long time ago and am firmly in head over heels territory.”

Darcy pulled back slightly. “It’s seeing me shoot that did it, isn’t it?”

Clint smiled at memory of the first time she joined him at the shooting range at the mansion. She claimed she was there to watch but after some not-so-subtle cajoling, she picked up a gun and gave it a try. Her first attempts were atrocious, but with time and practice, she improved. It helped that he was a big believer in hands-on instruction. Speaking of …

“Hey, no flirting with your instructor, Lewis.” He dropped is arms and stepped away from her.

Darcy looked confused. “What?”

“You’re booked for an hour’s worth of practice and that’s what you’ll do.” He tried to keep his expression stern, but something on his face must have given him away because hers shifted from perplexed to mischievous.

“My stance could use some improving,” Darcy said as Clint readied a fresh target. He watched her load her gun, checking to make sure the safety was still on when he pressed behind her, his hands on her hips. They both moved to put on their headphones, but before she did, Clint pressed his lips against her ear.

“Remember, distractions are common in the field,” he murmured as his index finger dipped underneath the waistband of her shorts.

She sucked in her breath as he stroked her smooth skin. "I'm not a field agent."

“Doesn't matter. I need you to stay focused.”

“What’s my prize if I do?” Her voice was breathy. He loved knowing he could do that to her.

He let his other hand brush against the front of her shorts, just the promise of more. “I’ll focus all of my attention on you when we get home. Do we have a deal?” She took a shuddering breath and nodded. “Good girl.”

He placed the headphones on her head, then his and tapped her shoulder. He kept his hands on her waist as she shot, feeling her body recoil against his. Each bullet hit the target, practically dead-center. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “So fucking hot."

* * *

In his office, Coulson turned off the shooting range’s security cameras, beginning a loop of footage that wouldn’t show one of his best agents making the move on his assistant. He knew Clint chose that lane because it was out of camera range, but it was never good to risk anything when those two were together. Besides, there was a pool about when they’d finally admit to everyone they were dating.

He was determined to win it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
